In from the beach, I’m rediscovering the beauties of summer among trees. Out there scrubby pitch pines and cedars give us a dark olive green, but we don’t have what you’d call leafy realms. Instead, the horizons are long, and we’re surrounded by sea and sky.
There’s nothing wrong with blue, of course, and the sunsets reflected in the waters of the harbor are sublime, but evening light sifting through the branches and making shadows on lush lawns is nice as well. I’ve been noticing goldfinches in bright summer plumage.
Rainy days at the beach are beautiful. We get a sense if isolation when the town waterfront disappears into the mist and the expanses of beach are empty. Breaks in the showers invite a solitary walk.
In shore the rain keeps things green. Brown and crispy is alright for breakfast cereal, but not for the lawn. The sound of rain at night substitutes for the rush of surf. During the intervals between showers, I walk down the street. My neighbor’s picket fence is festooned with roses bejeweled with drops of water.
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